Our Song

A shadow - a tear
a sigh caught on glass
the flutter of wings.
Be still - for I heard something
that reminded me
and must have been -
our song.

Evening. Night. Whispers on the terrace
over the glowing tip
of a cigarette
I can't see the wind
but I can hear the leaves rustle -
and there -
it must be!
They're playing our song

Ssh... don't cry -
because it had to be

long ago - the moon was shining
our song being played far away.